


Winter Dark

by Aithilin



Series: Seasonal Prompts [9]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blind Character, Fluff, M/M, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 19:43:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21104966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Ignis is still sensitive to the change of the seasons, even after the darkness of Ardyn's reign.





	Winter Dark

“It’s getting dark out.”

“I know.”

Ignis turned toward Noctis’ voice on instinct. It was soft, as always when the persona of the King could be shed like the chiming ornamentation that came with the station. With the unyielding stone of the literal seat of power within the unified Lucian kingdom. It was soft, and tired, and there was an inconsistency in the familiar gait of Noctis’ approach on the weathered garden stones in the fading afternoon. 

He could hear the regrowing city around him, echoing beyond the sturdy gates that still enclosed the Citadel plaza and the royal home. He could hear the way work faded with the sun, the urge to find shelter against the darkness still ingrained into instinct after a decade of darkness brought on by the Scourge. He could feel the broken rumble of the machines being pulled and parked out of the way and remembered the way the construction around Lestallum had seemed to fill the air as the city fortified and struggled to grow to house refugees crowding around the light. The distant rumble of titan daemons and Imperial weaponry had given way to the more comforting routines of progress. 

The fading day was now accompanied with sun-warmed stones beneath his hands. And the fresh air blowing across Eos like a mercy after the stagnation and blight of Ardyn’s bitter reign. 

It felt like an early winter afternoon, with the chill chasing the day-warmed breeze across his skin. He could almost believe that he could smell the coming snows on the air; a muted, understated perfume that seemed to push him inside to escape the coming cold while it beckoned him out to the open air. 

“Gladio says dinner is in an hour.”

“Majesty,” Ignis smiled, listening for Noctis’ movement at his side. The step, the ruffle of clothing, the whisper of a hand through hair (as Noctis has never lost some habits). He waited for the familiar warm touch to his back or arm; “are you telling me to come inside?”

“Like I could ever tell you anything, Specs.”

The gardens had only just started to bloom again late in the summer. The recovery of the seasons still struggling against the slow progress lead by the new dawn. Ignis had taken to stepping out to the open, neglected gardens when the noise echoing through the Citadel started to overwhelm him. He had taken to enjoying the stillness and calm beneath the sun’s warmth. To remembering a childhood spent among the flowers and greenery so carefully crafted and cultivated by Regis’ attention to the smaller details; the fragrant blooms and blossoms of spring more familiar to him than his mother’s perfume, and the heady summer greens a blur of fond memories of keeping pace with Noctis. He had almost recoiled from the damage done to the once-familiar walls in the Decade of Darkness— as it had been called among the more literal minded of the hunters traversing the lands— by the claws of daemons when he first returned to the Citadel to take stock of the damage. He had felt out the gauges and gashes in the walls, and consulted with the tradesmen returning to Insomnia to help rebuild to confirm the damage. 

In the end, he had started to wonder if the persistent smell of rot and blight would ever really be cleaned away. 

He wanted to see if a blanket of fresh snow— when it came— would absorb it as cleanser absorbs a stain, to be washed away in the winter rains before the real snows set in.

“What time is it, Noctis?”

“Just after five.”

“So winter is finally here?”

“Looks like,” Noctis’ hand was warm in his, rough from the callouses of wielding a variety of weapons. No one could dare say that the King did not know the labours of a kingdom, Ignis thought with no small satisfaction. He could feel the new roughness, the scrapes and scratches and marks left by the new work Noctis had taken up, learning the trades that would rebuild the kingdom. “No snow yet, though. At least, none this far in. Some hunters from Cavaugh said it’s coming.”

“I know, I was hoping to catch the first snow.”

“Like old times?”

“I still expect to drag you from your bed, should it happen tonight.”

“Our bed, Specs. And I’ll keep an eye out for it.” There was a small chuckle as Noctis started to complete the draw to return to the warmth of the Citadel. “Let’s see if I can drag you out of bed for once.”

“That will be a feat more miraculous than bringing the dawn, Majesty.”

“Come on, the dark is still making me nervous.”

Ignis resisted the pull long enough to delay Noctis. Long enough to tug him back as he used to, to offer a kiss. He was familiar enough with Noctis’ features to not need the guide of his hand to find his lover’s lips, but he used it all the same, letting the familiar image be conjured up with each taste and touch and subtle change he could only track by touch. “Then I’ll have to bolster your courage.”


End file.
